AN: Welcome to I've Got You Under My Skin. I tried to do a Ronione and it failed miserably so I'm back to what I do best: Dramiones. This one might be a tad cliché but it is still good, I think. Enjoy and review in that order if you please.

Chapter One

That ice cold feeling of regret vibrated throughout her whole body for a solid two weeks after what she came to know as The Incident. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel him on her and taste him, and smell his alluring aroma as if he was right next to her. It was almost enough to make her want to seek him out, but she wasn't that desperate or stupid enough to make the same mistake twice. Her head told her to cast a memory charm on herself so that she would forget but her heart to her to cling onto each bittersweet memory that she ran over several times a day. Her fascination with The Incident was bordering on obsessive and no amount of logic or reasoning would help her figure out what to do.

Hermione picked up the note off the bedside table that he had written her two weeks ago and reread it for the thousandth time. "Anytime," it said, and she had been spending her every waking moment overanalyzing the meaning of his letter to her. That one word had driven her crazy and every time she heard it out loud she would get that cold chill right under her skin and suppress a wild shiver. Why she hadn't thrown the letter away yet was still a mystery. To her, the letter meant something, even if their brief affair didn't. What that meaning was also happened to be an unsolvable mystery. At first, she had tried pouring her mind into work but her workplace reminded her of him in every possible way. They had reunited there after years of not speaking or even seeing each other, and it was there that he decided he would kiss her, inevitably drawing her in. What happened after that was just nature. Anyone would have done it after a powerful kiss like the one they had shared. At least that's what she told herself at night. She didn't believe it yet but practice makes perfect.

Her eyes lingered on the word again before she brought the parchment down to her nose. It smelled like him. Her eyelashes fluttered at his scent and she let out a slow, deep breath. He smelled like the woods and those Granny Smith apples that he always ate. Damn him for smelling so good. If by "anytime," he meant that he wanted her to come to him then he was out of his mind. Hermione was much too stubborn to give into that mind of temptation twice. The first time was just an experiment, a test to find out just how desirable he could be when he wasn't tossing insults or scowling at her. He had passed the test so she saw no reason, other than the ever growing want she had for him, to go to him again and let his masculine hands grope and caress her backside slowly and seductively. There would be no second time; she would see to that even if she died resisting him.

Each night she dreamt of the moments preceding her sexual indiscretion. The words that came out of his mouth were the trouble. If he hadn't talked to her then she never would have seen him any differently for that split second and she wouldn't have let him disapperate them to his place where he proceeded to shag her until she was breathless. There was no use in pretending that she hadn't enjoyed it. The only use now was forcing herself to make sure that it never happened again.

He closed his silvery blue eyes and played the scene again in his head. Ever since that night it was all he could think about and he was craving for more. The only problem was that she hadn't made an effort to come see him. She knew where he lived so he didn't understand what was stopping her from coming over. It had been the best night of his life and he wanted to relive it. Surely she felt the same way. She wasn't human if she didn't feel that way. Her sultry moans echoed in his ear like a broken record, and if he tried hard enough then he could still feel her warmth on his bed and smell her exotic berry shampoo on his pillow.

For the first time in his life he was glad that he had agreed to take the Dark Mark. If he hadn't then he probably would have been killed by his father and then he never would have met Granger that night at St. Mungo's.

The mark had been bothering him. At this point in his life it was a faded scar rather than a moving tattoo since the Dark Lord had been dead for three and a half years. He remembered that he was looking at his bare arm after just getting out of the shower, glaring at the indenture and wishing angrily for its disappearance when he had had a thought. His mother had said something about modern medicine techniques at St. Mungo's and then suggested to him that he should try and get the scar removed. Draco had scoffed at the suggestion, feigning cynicism so that he wouldn't be too disappointed if the Healers failed him. When he arrived at the hospital he was directed to the right floor and then escorted to a private room where he awaited the one who would rid him of his misery. When Granger walked through the door, wearing a lime green lab coat with her boring brown curls up in a stylish half bun, half pony tail and her almond brown eyes skimming over a patient clipboard, he could feel the blood rushing into his phallic shaft and the sensation of mid-air suspension rushing into his stomach. He was nervous and aroused all at once and she hasn't even looked at him yet. When her eyes lifted up to meet his own, he was tempted to run very far away and never come back but his boner kept him planted in his seat.

"Malfoy?" she had said without a hint of malice in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

For a moment, he could have sworn that he had heard concern in her voice but he knew that was his imagination. Why would she be concerned about him? He said nothing but lifted his sleeve to show her his battle wound.

"Let me guess," she had said. "You want me to get rid of that?"

Her tone only turned him on that much more. Draco had shrugged his shoulders and looked at the wall to his side. "I was told that you could. It's fine if you can't. I'll just live with it like I have for the past three years. Don't worry, it's only mildly torturous." His tone wasn't cold, but hopeful almost. He had high hopes of walking out with a clear arm if not a clear conscience.

"You're my last patient of the day and then I get to go home. It's not like I can refuse you service just because of the things you used to say and do." He couldn't help but notice the way she'd emphasized the words "used to." She had walked over to him and took his arm in her hand. She waved her arm over the scar then ran her finger down his forearm. Within a few seconds the scar was gone but he wasn't even thinking about that. The sexy clink of her heels and the way she touched him was enough to make him want to pull her under him and straddle her, so the fact that he had grabbed her arm next and pulled her into a kiss didn't surprise him one bit. His hair was still a little wet from his shower and drops of water were dripping onto his nose as their lips massages each other. Three drips later and he was actually shocked that she hadn't slapped him or pushed him away. Two more drips later and he was still kissing her. One more drop and he had broken the kiss himself, pulling her into his embrace and taking them to his place, landing them right on his bed.

He had wasted no time in taking off his shirt and unbuttoning his trousers. Draco took great pleasure in watching her throw her lab coat on the floor and pulling her hair out of that stupid bun. He ran his fingers through her hair before ripping her shirt off and slipping her skirt onto the floor. He told her to keep the heels she had on and kissed her neck, her left breast, the spot just under her naval and then her lips again before sliding his hardened cock into her wet and ready center. She had gripped his back with her nails and gasped as he pushed into her again and again.

He kept opening his eyes and looking down at her sweaty naked body to make sure that it wasn't a wild dream. He drove his member further into her while she arched her back. The view of her jiggling tits was more than enough inspiration for him to continue. Her shouts and moans were pleasant; not too loud or obnoxious. When she came he could have sworn that she had said his name but he had been too busy coming with her to notice exactly what it was that she uttered. When he left the room to take another shower she was resting on his bed. When he had returned she was gone, vanished. He knew that she would be back so there was no need to worry. The shock of what they'd just done had affected him as well, but instead of wearing a somber grimace he had a wide and satisfied smirk.